Evolution
by coldqueen
Summary: Starting with Homecoming, what should have been Peter and Claire's relationship. PAIRE, finished!
1. Strangers

**Title:** Evolution  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Spoilers:** This is set during **1X09: Homecoming**...so no spoilers after that episode.  
**Summary:** What if Peter and Claire's first meeting had gone differently? And become VERY naughty, indeed...

**A/N:** This is an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. One, Claire and Peter are not related. Two, Claire is seventeen to Peter's twenty-six. Three, flame me and you will regret it.

Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter One: Strangers**

* * *

"Ohh, sorry!"

"Sorry!"

The two strangers said as they slammed into each other and sent the girl's bag flying. With a charming grin, the man leaned down and picked it up. The girl blushed as his chocolate eyes stared at her, hesitating in taking her bag back from his hands before curling it into her arms. "That was my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going."

He grinned and shrugged. "My pleasure."

She smiled at him shyly, turning to continue her rush to the locker room to quickly change for half-time. She was supposed to be at home, being punished for decking Jackie, though she'd admittedly been quite the bitch at the time.

His voice had her turning back, though, before she'd gone even a few steps. "What's your name?"

Claire was no fool; she'd seen this very scene in several horror movies. She gives her name, the man becomes obsessed, stalks her, rapes her, kills her...but you can't rape the consensual, she thought to herself as she studied the stranger. He was tall, easily a foot taller than her. Very attractive in a bungling nerd kind of way. He looked like the kind of man who'd never been comfortable in his own skin; as a girl who had that same problem she could empathize. He had great eyes, eyes that even now were kind of eating her up. Ignoring the warmth escalating in her chest, she smiled widely at him and put her hand out to be shaken. "I'm Claire Bennet."

He nodded, taking her hand but instead of shaking it, he only stood there holding it. He stared at her like he knew all her secrets; right through her and God help her, she liked it. "My name's Peter. Peter Petrelli." He released her hand with a self-conscious grin. "Um, do you know her?" He gestured to the trophy case behind him, specifically the article framed inside heralding Jackie Wilcox, the bitch whom Claire had hit, as the town hero.

Claire lost a bit of that grin as she nodded. "That's Jackie." She didn't elaborate, mostly because inside she was a bit disappointed. Jackie always did get the cutest guys, most likely because she went out of her way to steal them. If Zach hadn't been gay, Claire had no doubt that Jackie would have made a play for him by now. "Are you a reporter?"

Peter looked surprised. "No. I was just...I think I might know her."

Claire could tell he was lying, but he really seemed like no harm. "It's almost half-time, so she's most likely out on the field, but um...I'm heading to the locker room, you can come and see if she's there if you want." It gave her extra time to appreciate the older-man-sexiness of him.

The walk to the locker room wasn't far and neither of them spoke as they walked. Their sidelong glances were enough to occupy their time.

Peter knew that she was younger than him. Okay, a lot younger than him. She was a cute perky HIGH SCHOOL cheerleader. He'd seen enough movies-of-the-week to know that this kind of attraction never led to good things. Still...thinking the word perky had him looking at her chest, and it was sizable despite her short stature. Unwillingly, he started imagining her jumping up and down...in a cheer, for Christ's sake, you pervs. He'd seen what the cheerleaders wore here (who wore long sleeves in Texas?) and could easily see her wearing it in his fantasy. In fact, as he walked blindly for a few feet, he could see her now, bouncing and smiling, throwing those curls over her shoulders as she leaned in and licked his ear, blowing on it lightly as she whispered seductively...

"This is it."

Peter jumped and stared down at the petite girl beside him. "Okay, um...I guess I can't go in."

Claire smiled. "You can come in. I don't think anyone is in there."

"How can you tell?" Peter asked as she pulled open the door and gestured for him to walk in.

"No noise. Girls make noise. Especially cheerleaders."

That got him thinking dirty thoughts again, so Peter chose to ignore it. "So...she's out on the field?"

Claire nodded and slid past him; in the narrow space between the bench and the long row of lockers she brushed against him. Part of her wanted to pause, let the warmth of him sink in, but she was rational enough to know that it would be obvious what she was doing. With a grin, she set her bag on the bench and started to open her locker, ignoring that Peter still stood a few feet away. "You gonna go look for her?"

Peter realized he'd been staring into space (Bouncing Cheerleaders are fun!) and flashed a guilty grin. "Um...I guess so." He turned, ready to leave, when a thought occurred to him. "There's no one around. You sure you're gonna be okay alone in here?"

Claire laughed as her locker opened, then blushed as one of her spare bras, a lacy racy red little number fell to the ground. Both of their eyes immediately locked on it and she froze. What could be more mortifying than having a sexy stranger see your unmentionables? Especially the risqué ones you let your gay friend goad you into buying between attempts to maim yourself?

Peter bent down, picking it up by the edge of the cup and ignoring the urge to rub the texture with his fingers, and held it out to her.

She didn't breathe as she reached for it, and the embarrassment slid away under his oh-so-direct gaze. She started to pull it from his hand, but he didn't release it, so instead she was pulling him towards her.

Bare inches between them as she sighed roughly, looking into eyes not familiar, even though she wanted them to be. Who was this man that he could affect her so? Where had he come from, and how did she keep him?

Peter pushed the bra into her locker, under the clothes crowded in there, but didn't move away. Her hair gleamed in the partial light that filtered around the lockers and he smiled softly. "You probably need to head out to the field, right?"

She shook her head slowly. "I'm not even really supposed to be here."

"You're not?"

"They wouldn't even miss me..." she finished in a whisper as she stood on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his.

This was bad.

They didn't know each other.

This was one of those temptations that inevitably came back to bite you on the ass.

They didn't care.

Her lips were soft as they brushed his thinner, harder ones. Her breath smelled of mint chocolate, undoubtedly from candy, and he found the super sweet scent matched her perfectly. Her eyes fluttered closed and he took it as permission to take it a step further. Peter pressed his lips against hers completely, slowly licking the inside of her bottom lip before falling into a passionate lip lock. He slid his hands into those sunlit curls and pressed her against the locker as she curled into him.

He moaned aloud as he slipped down to nuzzle her neck, rubbing against her in a primal rhythm that echoed deep inside each of them. Claire moaned and reached blindly into her locker for a certain item Jackie had placed there as a cruel joke several months ago and that she'd never removed (thank gawd). Pulling the box from her locker, she gasped for air as his lips found her breast through the tight t-shirt she wore beneath her jacket. "Peter!"

"Hmmm?" His inquiry was a vibration against already overloaded senses and she giggled as she tapped him with the box.

"I think..." she started to say, stopping with a loud moan as he slid his hand into her jeans.

Peter glanced at the box. "Good idea," he muttered even as he undid the button of her jeans with his teeth (which was not as easy as it sounds). Claire grinned and fisted her hands in his hair, enjoying the silky glide of the tresses through her small fingers. Peter's breath rushed against the sensitive skin of her pelvis as he slid her jeans and panties down, only to find her boots still on. Shrugging because it really didn't matter, he slid back up, pressing jean-clad hips against pale naked ones.

They kissed again, Claire wrapping her arms around his neck as he undid his own pants and let them slip to his knees. The air temperature around them sky-rocketed as he reached behind him to pull at the box she still held in her hands, tearing it open one-handed and reaching for one of the packets inside. Breaking their kiss, he ripped it open with his teeth, smirking as she took it from him and looked down at his penis, a gleam of cum already at its tip. She wiped it with her thumb, licking it off before cupping his balls and pumping him up and down. Tired of her games, they put the condom on together and fused their semi-naked bodies together.

Peter slid his hands under her thighs, lifting her against the lockers. Her legs were caught at the feet by her jeans and shoes, so she bent her knees and tried to accommodate his hips. It created an odd diamond of her legs, but when he started to push his dick into her hot wetness, she didn't care how odd they looked.

Claire searched for something to hold on to, but with only slick metal at her back, she had only him. Sinking nails and teeth into his shoulders, she screamed as he thrust into her. She felt a momentary pain, then this extraordinary sensation of being filled, so completely that it took what little breath she had away. She leaned back to look in his eyes and knew that he felt this same blind lust.

"I didn't know..." He gasped as she involuntarily clenched around him.

"I didn't tell you."

"I wouldn't have-"

She fisted her hands in his hair. "Doesn't matter. It'll just come back."

He looked confused, but when she took advantage of his distraction to rip his shirt down the middle, he didn't care. Adjusting his hips in a small way, he withdrew from her (one of the hardest things he's ever had to do) and plunged back inside (great fun!). Claire threw one hand above her head and almost felt like a beast was inside her trying to claw out. With every thrust of his hips, bite of his lips, the beast became wilder. It made her clench the top of the locker above her, cutting into her hand; her teeth made deep impressions in Peter's ear even as she whispered all sorts of encouragement to him.

"There..." she gasped when he ran the tip of his latex-covered extremity over a certain spot. "Oohh, there!" She sighed again as he slid across it on purpose. Together, they moved in the dark, their sighs echoing out into the hall, though no one heard them over the cries of the nearby stadium. Peter picked up steam, moving in and out in seamless motions that were almost a blur to the eye. Her back slammed into the lockers behind her with a resounding THWAP every time, and it sounded like it hurt, but they were both past caring.

She was so close, he could feel her nails pressing harder as she gasped and moaned into his ear. She pulled his head back, pressing her lips to his as her tight cunt exploded around him, muscles he never knew existed in a woman gripping and releasing almost instantly in an oddly massaging way. Her arms slammed into the lockers behind her as she pushed herself down on him, trying to pull him in deeper. Her head fell back, a long silent scream escaping in a rush of air. Peter pulled her thighs up higher, forcing her legs wider and let her orgasm spur his.

He could feel his balls tightening up, ready to be released, and with a sigh and a small nibble on her shoulder, he gave in.

A few rough, short thrusts later, and he could feel himself losing it, cumming inside her and spurring her to another high. They clenched together, riding out the last waves in harmony until he could only helplessly fall to his knees, still supporting her and imagining that sliding down the lockers like they did could not have felt good.

Their breath eventually evened out and their skin cooled, yet they remained locked together. Peter grinned at her, leaning in to kiss her neck right where her pulse still beat frantically. Claire smiled and gestured to the box of condoms still lying rampaged nearby. "I don't usually-"

Peter grinned. "It's okay. I can kind of tell that."

She laughed. "It was nice though."

"Very nice."

They laughed together and he nuzzled her neck, having forgotten the very reason he was even here in Odessa. He bit her neck lightly, suckling because the thought of her having his mark on her was satisfying for some unexplored reason he'd rather not go into at the moment.

He pulled back, nipping at her chin in delight, when his hickey disappeared right before his eyes. Claire watched his face slacken in shock. Even as he looked at her with new eyes, eyes that knew just what she was, she watched the marks she'd made on him (bites, hickeys, several bruises) disappear as well. She looked at him with new eyes as well.

He gasped, floundering in these new circumstances. "You're the one I was looking for?"

"You're like me?"

He nodded. "I guess I am."

She smiled softly, shrugging. "I guess you found me."


	2. Acquaintances

Chapter Two: Acquaintances

* * *

The locker room was quiet with the distant echo of a cheering crowd only a tickle on the edge of the senses. Despite his own reaction to Claire being the cheerleader that Isaac's paintings and Future Hiro had sent him looking for, Peter wasn't surprised that she was important to him or his future. From the second they'd touched each other in the hall, his entire mind had been focused on her. He'd known there was something about her, something that drew him in. 

The real question became, just what was he supposed to save her from, and had he already failed?What if he'd been supposed to save her...from himself?

Claire wasn't having the same qualms as Peter. She didn't have thoughts of saving the word or personal failure on her mind. She was mostly thinking about how much she enjoyed having Peter's long, thin, strong arms around her and how he smelled really good.

Though the thought that he was 'special' like her did make that million-watt smile of hers ratchet up a few more notches.

While the lovebirds sat there glorifying in the glow of after-love (or rapidly finding your mind taking twisty-turns to nuclear explosion), someone was sneaking around the bend.

His real name was unimportant; he was simply known as Sylar.

His life's mission was centered on killing people with abilities, so that he could steal them.

He had a good dozen already.

Now he was after Claire's.

Neither he nor she nor the second he with the she, know it.

As Sylar crept down the aisles of lockers, he knew there were people on the other side. He heard their movements moments ago when he entered, fully intent on finding the "special girl" he sought. He knew she was a cheerleader, he knew she was indestructible, and he knew she was blonde, but he didn't know where she was or her name.

He could sense that she was close.

Poking his head around the line of lockers, Sylar observed the two semi-nude entwined people on the ground. The girl was blonde, was a cheerleader (if the uniform on the ground next to her was any indication), the only question was if she was the one he sought. With barely a glance for the man, Sylar slipped back into the shadows, prepared to wait for some indication that he was right.

Sylar was not a violent man by nature, he didn't murder willy-nilly. He only took what was destined to be his.

He would be special, damnit.

* * *

Claire brushed one sweat-tinged lock of hair off Peter's face, marveling at the contrast of the deep brown to her golden fingers. "We should get dressed. Half-time is almost over and Jackie has been a real bitch lately."

Peter nodded but couldn't stop himself from leaning in and stealing another kiss. Apparently, having Claire's quick-healing powers had an added bonus, because even as he tasted her minty-chocolatey-goodness, he was growing hard within her again. Claire moaned and leaned back, banging into the lockers. "No time to go at it again. Later?"

He grinned. "Promise?"

"Only if we get out of here before we get caught," she replied with a smile, sliding out of his arms and instantly missing the warmth he projected. She straightened her shirt, which they'd never removed, and pulled up her jeans and panties, also never removed. She tried to imagine what they'd looked like, going at it mostly clothed with only the bear essentials showing. The image made her laugh.

"What's so funny?" Peter asked, buttoning his jeans.

Claire blushed and explained. "We didn't get any of our clothes off."

Peter stepped close, scant inches away and looked down at the petite girl before him. He passed the back of his finger down the wet spot formed over her breast where he'd briefly suckled. "Didn't need to."

Claire released the breath she'd sucked in and nodded. "We should go."

Peter waited until she'd grabbed her bag before sliding his hand down her arm, wrapping their fingers together as he tugged her toward the door. "So, Jackie a friend of yours?"

Claire shook her head. "Ever since she walked through fire," she said with a snide twist of her lips, "she's been bitchier than ever."

"Walked through fire, eh?" Peter replied, having seen the article and now knowing the truth.

She scoffed. "She no more walked through fire and came out unharmed than I did. She's just a damn liar."

Their words trailed off as they exited through the hallways, leaving their unknown observer behind.

He grinned as Claire and Peter walked away and the joyous sounds of cheerleaders post-cheer came closer.

Jackie, huh? Sylar would very much like to meet her...

* * *

They lay together in his motel bed and found it difficult, even with their shared healing abilities, to stir the energy to get up.

Claire shouldn't still be here, she knew this, but she couldn't make herself leave. Sneaking out to go to the Homecoming Game was one thing. Sneaking out to go to a motel room with a stranger was another. A very delicious other thing that she wanted to indulge in again and again. Between hungry kisses and caresses on naked skin, they spoke of their lives.

She knew he had a pseudo-girlfriend in New York who was in love with the clairvoyant painter. She knew his brother was in politics and manipulated everyone around him. She knew he loved Rocky Road ice cream and Hawaiian pizza.

He knew her best friend was gay, her family meant the world to her, and that she was adopted. He knew that she dreamed of escaping this small Texas town. He knew that she preferred cotton sheets to silk, that she slept in her Dad's old football jersey and that she adored Mint Chocolate.

They knew that in the light of the streetlamp outside that leaked through the lone window, their bodies seemed to be made of darkness and light. Her hair was spread out over the pillow and he ran his hands down the curls with surprising fondness. She pulled on his own dark tresses and delighted in the cringe he made while explaining that he has 'been meaning to get it cut'.

Not long before dawn, they slipped into sleep and Claire wondered if her Dad was worried about her.

If she only knew...

Peter was the first to wake, sometime near noon. He'd like to think that the bright light of day had brought reality back to him, and he'd be sending Claire back home with a pat on the head, a sweet smile, and a bright and shiny cherry on top, but it wasn't possible.

Even as he slid to the edge of the bed and left her tempting, soft body behind, he was craving another fix for his "Claire-addiction". They'd gone at it all night, starting as soon as they'd walked in the door and then five more times. He knew she healed, but even she might be sore after all that.

Thank gawd for healing powers.

With a wince and a small groan, Peter stood and slipped on his clothes. He'd go grab some coffee, maybe some fruit, and be back in time to wake her up properly...then get down to talking.

Although, when Claire woke up he wasn't there, most likely because when he closed the door he woke her. She wasn't sore, or satiated, and was disappointed he was gone. Even as she stretched in bed, her hand reached for her cell phone, ready to hear whatever tirade her Dad left on the voicemail. She was just punching in the numbers of her code when the door slammed open. Peter walked in, slamming it again before throwing the Odessa Times on the bed and explaining, "We've got a problem."

Shutting the phone without listening, she pulled the covers up over her breasts and reached for the paper. The headline was big and bold, taking up half the page, "High School Hero Murdered!" Claire could barely read as her body began to shake, and Peter sat next to her, pulling the paper from her hands as her mind caught up.

"Jackie is...dead?" She couldn't truly believe it, but somewhere in her heart she knew it was true. Something in Peter's gaze, the guilt or the sadness, made her think it might be her fault.

"Yes," he framed her face with her hands, "but it's not your fault. I think this is what I was supposed to save you from."

"Save me from?"

"I need you. According to Hiro and Isaac, I need you to save the world, starting with New York."

She was confused, sad, and very guilty, but she listened as Peter laid it out and could only sit there silently when he finished.

"So, New York is going to blow up?"

"Yeah, we just don't know how."

Claire nodded. "I think I want to go home."

Peter stood, pacing around the room as thoughts spun in his mind. "I'm not sure you can. Look, this guy that killed Jackie, he's still out there. Most likely still here since he knows by now she wasn't special like us. He's looking for you, Claire. I think he'll try and go after you again."

She stood as well, pulling the cover around her as she did so. "What am I supposed to do then? Spend the rest of my life hiding?"

Peter froze, staring into space as a thought occurred to him. "You could come with me."

"With you where?"

He looked at her. "To New York. It's...illegal to take you over state borders, but I think it might be the only way to keep you safe."

Claire looked ready to cry. "I don't know if I can do that."

Peter tried to go to her, to hold her, but she kept backing up. "Claire-"

"No. Just shut up for a minute. I've got all this information going round in my head and I'm trying to make sense of it." She gazed into space, the pieces clicking even as she felt her old life fading faster and faster. "Yesterday I was just Claire Bennet. A girl with a secret trying to be normal. I don't think I can be Claire the Hero."

Peter finally got close enough to place his hand on her cheek. "I think you already are."

"Oh, Peter..." Claire whispered as she let him hold her.

Had it really been just yesterday that they'd met?

It felt like a lifetime between sneaking out of the house and this tender moment in some cheap motel outside of Odessa. The things she'd done and had done to her. The things she learned and the things she'd ignored.

Leaning back, she pressed her forehead to his, making a momentous decision she wasn't sure was the right one. "I'll go with you, but we better move fast."


	3. Friends

**Small Author's Note**: For those not really "understanding" what I'm doing...I know you're out there...I'm still doing the basic HEROES plotlines. I'm just tweaking them in a way that will fit the "first meeting" I wrote for Peter and Claire. This one takes place during _Godsend_, but, for example of what I'm doing, instead of Peter being in a coma for two weeks, he's been hiding out with Claire for two weeks until the "heat" dies down (the reason there is "HEAT" and not the good SMUTTY kind is explained in Acquaintances. Thank you!

* * *

Chapter Two: Friends

* * *

The walls of Peter's apartment were pale beige, and had numerous small pockmarks in it. How those marks got there Claire didn't know, but she'd spent the last week and a half thinking about it. Some of them looked like spackled-over nail holes, but badly done. Several had distinct hand-shaped imprints. All had been recently painted over, again, in the pale beige.

She'd had plenty of time to think about this since she wasn't allowed to leave the apartment.

Peter, who was allowed, chose not to; this was his apartment, he was perfectly comfortable with secluding himself from family and friends and trying to figure out how to stop the bomb, whatever that bomb was. He'd spent the three days traveling here discussing it with Claire, then the next week brooding over it, ignoring the fact that he now had a minor illegally staying in his New York apartment after he'd traveled over MANY state lines with her. Claire found that she was partly grateful for his preoccupation. It allowed her to get used to his place on her own terms, in her own time.

She knew every mark in those walls, every mark on his body. She knew every scrape on the floor, every loose thread of the couch. Claire had seen every view from the window, of every time of day and night. She knew his place better than he knew it himself, and slowly because of it, it became her place too. A place where she didn't have to pretend to have school spirit and to smile all the time. Where she herself could think long thoughts without having to sugarcoat them for public consumption.

It was a habit of Peter's that she'd picked up as easily as he picked up on others' powers.

Claire had to admit, he looked good when he brooded; his dark bangs hanging over his face, hands twisting and feet stomping about as he fidgeted again and again. She'd spent many an hour just watching him sit there and be emo, and had to admit that she'd spend many an hour doing it again. Sitting in one of the oddly ritzy wingbacks that bracketed his battered leather couch in his derelict apartment, she twirled her hair around her finger and imagined deliciously deviant things about her roommate.

Yes, roommate.

As in...he hadn't touched her since their first 'date'; if you could call fucking in the locker room fifteen minutes after they first met a date.

Which she did.

Her dignity required nothing less.

As it was, they hadn't spent the entire last two weeks not speaking to each other. In between trying to figure out how they were supposed to "save the world" (which included discussions about the definitions of 'save', 'world', and the various interpretations one could make of each word), Peter and Claire did continue to get to know each other. Whereas three weeks ago, they hadn't known each other at all, now they might even be described in passing as "best friends".

Peter didn't treat her as a child, despite her being nine years younger than him, having just passed her seventeenth birthday not too long ago. He'd even bought her a t-shirt in Missouri as a birthday present, though she thinks that has more to do with the fact that he'd spilled soda on her only shirt about half-way between Jefferson City and St. Louis. They'd been in such a hurry to get out of Odessa before someone caught them that Claire hadn't been allowed to return home and pack.

She hadn't taken the time to call her parents either. In the past two weeks, her father had left fifty-seven messages on her phone, each imploring her to call. Her mother had left seventy. While her mother's were pleas for a safe return, seemingly to an imaginary kidnapper of some sort, Claire's father's were not. In fact, they were oddly pointedly directed at her, almost as if he'd known she'd taken off voluntary. Sometimes she even thought he might be following them, just the sensation of eyes on the back of her neck that sent her senses screaming and her head spinning.

Peter had no idea of her suspicions.

"Claire?"

Startled from her place in the chair, her feet slammed to the floor as she whirled around to stare at Peter where he stood near the doorway. "Yeah?"

"I'm going out. I'll be back in a few hours."

Her surprise clearly showed on her face. Neither of them had left the apartment since they'd arrived. Peter had even unplugged the phone and ignored any knock on his door. He hadn't given her a reason, but he hadn't really needed to. Her picture was all over the news for several days. It was to be expected. Cheerleader is murdered in small Texas town, same night another cheerleader goes missing? Surely not a coincidence, and definitely a national news story. It was why Claire still wasn't allowed out, and no one was allowed in.

Peter was sacrificing his own life and relationships to protect her.

Claire nodded and stood, taking in the vintage Tee he wore under his jacket. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to see Isaac. I want to know if he's painted anything new."

"What about your brother? And Simone?" Especially Simone, Claire wanted to know. Was he planning on seeing her? Was he planning on telling her about Claire?

"I'll talk to Nathan when I feel like it...and...I've already spoken to Simone." Peter started across the room, hesitating briefly to brush a kiss across Claire's forehead. "Don't answer the door for anyone. I've got my key. If you need something call my cell," he reminded her over her shoulder. He was almost out the door before he leaned back in to sneak in a snide comment, "And no ordering Skinemax."

Claire laughed and flipped him the bird before sliding back into the seat and picking up the magazine she'd dropped hours ago. This easy camaraderie between them had come at a heavy price. The sexual tension between them was slowly going silent but deadly, growing tighter with every passing day only to be ignored. They liked to pretend that with practice, that ignoring it would get easier and it might even die away. Claire fell asleep with Peter on her mind, and woke with him there as well. Sometimes, there was a look in his eyes that made her wonder if he knew it, or perhaps if he felt the same way.

She did know that he'd spoken to Simone already, though of course Peter was oblivious to that fact. It'd been several nights after they'd fled Odessa. He'd called her in the bathroom, thinking Claire was asleep. She'd hadn't had the heart to tell him she hadn't slept for days, and because of her healing abilities, could go indefinitely without it.

In some of her fantasies, he and she explored that never-ending energy to many delightful prospects. She was no stranger to tantric sex, at least not in her imagination.

She imagined Simone wasn't either. The woman had captured not one, but two powerful Heroes. Isaac, the prophetic painter, and Peter, the sponge; sometimes Claire wondered if Simone had an ability herself. That, of course, was jealousy talking which she couldn't control. She could only take satisfaction in the knowledge that whatever Simone and Peter had was over. She'd heard Peter tell Simone that; he's said explicitly that when he returned to New York he didn't want to see her romantically anymore, since she was in love with Isaac. He'd even gone so far as to call their kiss a mistake.

Claire took satisfaction in the knowledge that she'd had Peter when Simone hadn't.

She wondered what Simone looked like.

* * *

He'd run like a little bitch, and he wasn't apologizing for it.

Peter had not, as Claire supposed, been consumed with figuring out how to stop the bomb for the past two weeks. He could barely even think about anything else when she was around. Every movement she made, every sound, every look, was indelibly marked in his memory. He brooded because all he could think about was getting inside her again, and the knowledge that he shouldn't was all that kept his will strong enough to resist.

...but when she fingered the small niches in his wall, her eyes all dreamy as she imagined how they'd gotten there he could swear that the line that kept him from bending her over the coffee table and fucking her became a noose by which he hung himself every night. Later, when the moon was blocked by the skyscrapers and a false orange day overtook the streets, he paced his bedroom, door shut, and pretended that he didn't know she was doing the same on the other side.

The streets were busy, it was lunch time after all, and Peter slipped through the crowd with practiced ease. He'd walked these streets for years, knew every dip and crack that was in the sidewalk. Still, even he was amazed when he observed a hobo-looking man stealing a woman's purse right in front of everyone. He wasn't surprised by the stealing, more so by the fact that no one was doing a damn thing.

"Hey!" He called, trying to get someone's attention, and though several people around him took steps back and continued walking, no one by the thief did the same. "Hey, you!"

The daring thief was now calmly walking away. Peter, the Hero, could no longer stand this insult. Taking off after the man, he grabbed his arm, forcing his attention. "What are you doing?"

"You can see me?" The man asked incredulously.

And so began Peter's headache.

* * *

It'd been more than a few hours, but Claire wasn't worried about Peter. Oh, no, sirree. After listening to another round of voice messages from her parents, and several from her brother, Claire found herself in depressed-teenage-girl-ville and decided dipping into Peter's vodka stash was the medicine she needed.

The only problem was that since she healed so quickly, she had to drink continuously just to maintain a buzz. She'd gone through three bottles now, and sipped every few minutes to maintain the "Whirly" feeling that made the room spin so fun. It reminded her of when Peter was inside of her, moving and making the world seem like it didn't exist, but if it did it moved so quickly neither noticed. Even as the world sped by, every touch was in slow motion in her memory though she knew it wasn't in reality. Their tryst in the locker room didn't last more than ten minutes at the most, yet as she sat on the couch in one of his t-shirts (her sleeping garb), she waxed nostalgic and somehow the encounter stretched out infinitely.

For one thing, in her mind their clothes actually were removed all the way, slowly. He slid his hands inside her pants, unbuttoning them and sliding them down slowly. He kneeled and removed them and her shoes, breathing heavily on the swollen and moist part of her that remembered his touch so ardently...

Claire jerked from her thoughts because that last one wasn't true at all. She sat up in the dark, finding the she'd dozed and her buzz was completely gone. The swirlies in the air had dissipated, but when she stood she found her aroused state from her dozing dream hadn't. With a naughty smile she slumped back on the couch, shoving the cushions away and slumping down. Peter was gone and showed no sign of returning, and Lord knew, she'd never risk this when he was here.

All she wore beneath the thin shirt were panties, and skimpy ones at that. Maybe she'd put them on in hopes that Peter would stumble in at an inopportune moment, catching a glimpse of her barely clad rear and finding himself without the will to resist. Maybe he'd push her to the floor and make sure that the same scantily clad rear stung from the force of his love.

Just the thought had her arching from the couch, her hand sliding inside her panties to touch her sensitive flesh.

Claire had never been one for masturbating, not from lack of wanting, but more from lack of privacy. Her parents' room had been right across from hers, and Claire wasn't exactly quiet. She could even admit that several of her "boyfriends" had provided a little stimulus from time to time, though she'd never allowed it to go very far and _most_ had gotten the hints.

Since she and Peter had consummated their relationship, though...

She'd gotten urges. Hot, sweating, wake her in the middle of the night panting urges. Urges that Peter refused to acknowledge, let alone satisfy.

She touched herself, and she thought of him. She rubbed up and down the outside of her cunt first, making long lazy sweeps near the nubbin, pretending that her two fingers was the head of his penis and that he was a teasing little bastard like he'd been that one night. Then she pinched herself, the pain so deliciously close to pleasure that her back arched even further from the couch and she slid to the floor with a jarring thump!

Claire sighed and removed her hand, realizing that this just wasn't working.

Surely she needed more room?

With an evil grin, and Peter still showing no sign of showing up, she crawled her way to his room and pulled herself onto his rumpled bed. It smelled like him, a combination of husky man and Hugo Boss cologne. High quality sheets slid against her skin like a lover's touch and excited her rapidly heating flesh. She wrapped herself in his bedding and found herself almost feeling him there, laughing along her belly as his tongue slid into her navel and lower.

She began again.

She didn't dick around this time, either.

She thrust two fingers inside her and found the width lacking. Peter was wider than that, and imagining him had her moaning in frustration. She ached for him, night and day, and he refused her so callously, so cruel.

She used three fingers and found it more to her liking.

She pressed them in and moved them about, hitting so many interesting spots at once that she began to ripple with pre-orgasm almost at once. Peter's cock couldn't do that, but damn if it didn't go deeper.

She started to move in and out, pretending it was him and that he'd become magically all-touching inside of her. Her slick fingers began to move faster even as her legs fell open and the sheets slid aside. She was open to the air now; it felt cool and refreshing on her fevered skin, her slick sensitive flesh. Her panties were in her way, but she wasn't about to stop and remove them. She was having too much fun. Why hadn't she ever done this before?

Her hips began to pump up and down on the bed, her feet sliding to and fro trying to find purchase. She giggled into the air, a long breathy laugh that echoed over the infomercials in the living room as her flesh tightened and clenched her fingers. She could feel her climax in her stomach and found the twin sensations of her pussy and her fingers most interesting. Almost like being in two places at once; such complex thoughts were lost on her though as she finally let go of all her tension with a moan. She kept pumping her cramping fingers, trying to make it last like Peter could, make it go on for hours like he could until her voice was gone and her legs couldn't move.

In the end, she was left with more frustration because even she couldn't give herself what she needed.

Sighing and grumbling as a black mood settled over her, she slipped from her den of iniquity and straightened the sheets as best she could.

She wondered if she could sneak out without Peter knowing and find someone to fill this void inside her.

* * *

Peter's head felt like it was splitting open and the images that lingered there only made it worse.

He'd met an invisible man today. One who'd mockingly introduced himself as Claude Rains before he pushed him off the roof of a building. On the way down to the cab below, where Peter would finally learn the secret to controlling his abilities, Peter had a very interesting dream, if it truly was a dream.

Perhaps it was more of a prophecy, but he had no idea where it came from.

He'd been an exploding man, taking out all of New York. For the life of him, he wanted to dismiss it as a dream, as a figment of his panicking mind.

He knew it wasn't.

As he walked back to his apartment, having left Claude behind to his pigeons, Peter knew with certainty that he was going to die and take most of New York with him.

He was going to explode, and not even Claire could save him.

All his thinking, all his brooding, all his resisting temptation, and within a few weeks he was going to die anyways? It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all.

Thinking of others had only gotten him hurt. When was Peter supposed to think about himself? When was he going to think about his world? His safety? His happiness?

Peter let himself into his apartment with indecision on his mind, a weakness in his steel shield and was unprepared for the sight that greeted him. Claire sat in front of the TV, her golden legs balanced on the coffee table as she blinded him with a million watt smile, all innocence and light. "Hi, Peter!"

"What'd you do?" He asked in a pseudo-serious voice, knowing her ploys all too well. He slipped off his jacket and inhaled the air around her, a mix of flowers and something familiar.

"Not a damn thing," she replied, turning back to the Psychic Hotline with an evil grin.

"Like I believe that," he snorted, tossing his jacket over the back of the couch. He grew serious quickly, leaning down to brush a kiss on the top of her forehead before nuzzling the crown of her head that glowed like a halo there. "I had a bad night."

She turned on the couch, coming to her knees to wrap her arms around his shoulder, and still everyone was so damn _friendly_. "What happened? Is it why you've been gone so long?"

"I met another Hero, one I didn't know before today. We got to talking, and fighting, and...something happened."

"What?" She asked, her blue eyes and tempting lips so close that their breath mingled. Peter hesitated, briefly wanting to press his lips to hers, to feel her sigh into him, but he moved away anyways.

"I'll change and tell you all about it, I bet you'll find it funny," he said sardonically over his shoulder as he pulled his bedroom door shut behind him. He immediately froze.

His room smelled different, that same something similar, and with a flash of revelation, he knew what it was. He could remember it so acutely because he dreamt of it every night.

Walking to his bed, he slid his hands over the sheets, fisting them and pulling them close, inhaling deeply.

She'd been here, in his bed, perhaps waiting for him. Most certainly thinking of him, or she damn well better have been.

He pulled the top sheet away, throwing it to the wall, fighting for control.

He was supposed to protect Claire, not fuck her.

Yet deep inside his mind, a little voice started to speak, a little voice brought on by visions of apocalyptic doom...

_She wants you to protect her __**and**__ fuck her. They're not mutually exclusive._

They should be, Peter thought back. She's a girl.

_You made her a woman._

He should have known better.

_She's got a woman's tastes now..._

He should've done a lot of things, and shouldn't have done others.

_...she'll go satisfy those tastes elsewhere if you don't step up..._

Rage colored his vision at the thought. Claire with Isaac, Claire with Mohinder? Claire with some random footballer going at it in the football field, her cheerleader uniform shoved up over her hips?

Peter lifted the soiled sheet from the floor and threw open his bedroom door, startling Claire onto her feet where the t-shirt rode up and left much skin to bare. Peter hungrily eyed it as he let the sheet slip from his grip. He stalked her retreating form across the room, delighting in the mirrored hunger in her gaze, even if it was mixed with fear.

"Peter?"

"Claire."

"What's wrong?"

"I can't resist anymore, Claire," he whispered into her hair as he pressed his rock-hard body against hers, sliding his arms around her hips and lifting her in one smooth motion, tossing her over his shoulder. She gasped as the sudden motion, all her breath sliding from her body in a long rush even as what was happening finally dawned on her.

"Finally!" She shouted as she slid her hands into his jeans, fondling his ass as he carried her. "I was beginning to think you weren't getting the clues, Peter!"

Peter grinned and tossed her on the bed, and he looked almost sinister in the light, eliciting a shiver of anticipation. "Find something to hold onto."

She licked her suddenly dry lips and asked with a slight grin. "Why?"

He kneeled above her, and they kissed violently, bruised lips and gnashing teeth, the product of weeks of sexual repression and frustration. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk."

Claire's eyes widened. "That'll be challenging."


	4. Lovers

**Chapter Four: Lovers**

* * *

_9 p.m._

If you'd told her this morning, Claire wouldn't have believed that she'd be in bed with Peter Petrelli twelve hours later. After two weeks of wanting him and getting rebuffed, her hopes had all but disappeared. He would barely look her in the face, and she honestly hadn't been able to blame him. They were supposed to save the world, and neither of them knew how. In this moment in time, the world doesn't go past the walls and they can only save themselves.

He'd already removed his clothes, tearing them away with reckless abandon and speed, and he was crawling over her where she lay sprawled out on his bed. He'd thrown her there seconds ago, though it felt like an eternity. He straddled her bare legs and the sensation of his slightly hairy legs against her hairless ones made her shiver and reach for him. He grasped her wrists, pulling them above her head and holding them there. He looked into her face, his hunger subsiding long enough for tenderness to peak through.

"I want to go slow."

She keened, stretching for him. "No, Peter! Not this time! Please?!"

He shushed her, nuzzling her cheek with his own even as she bucked beneath him. "I want to go slow, but I can't. I know you can heal, but it's always so rough and so insanely hot that I can never slow down and appreciate it." She stilled beneath him, and could feel the beast within her quiet under his soothing murmurs. He stared into her eyes, brushing a kiss across her brow. "I want to go slow, but I can't this time. I promise you slow, later."

She nodded. "Later."

The inferno raged again.

He pushed the t-shirt she wore – his – up and bit into the soft flesh of her stomach, soothing the bite with his tongue, knowing she'd already healed the barely-there damage. She laughed into the dark room, a breathy giggle that caressed his skin. She ran her hands through his tangled dark hair and down his back, bending forward and inadvertently forcing his head lower, he didn't mind though. She scraped her nails up his back, hard, and left small lines of red behind before throwing herself back onto the sheet, at his mercy. She pulled her shirt over her head and watched the brown of his eyes lighten to amber in pleasure as he stared at her naked breasts, already swollen and flushed from aching for him.

He cupped her breasts even as he uses his teeth to pull her panties down; panties already moist from her earlier ministrations. Nibbling at the curve of her hip, he slid them down her legs, throwing them to the floor and circled her ankles with nimble fingers. He knelt on the bed, happy for the first time in two weeks. She made him so happy, the look of her, the touch, the scent. For a few moments, Peter imagined that he could see a future for them, filled with love and tenderness, with jokes and memories, with kids and commitment. A fantasy, of course, since there wasn't even a guarantee they'd live another month, but a guy could hope.

Claire wrapped her small fingers around him and he moaned and jerked. She grinned coquettishly and squeezed him, watching as he tensed and breathed harder. When she used her other hand to caress his ball sac, his head fell back and she pounced. Wrapping her legs around him, she licked up his neck and bit his ear fiercely. The pain made something in him snap and he pressed her down into the mattress with a growl. He got her hands again, holding them above her head, as he rubbed himself against her.

Her legs fell open in abandon and he took full advantage. He slid his hands down her legs, pulling her tighter to him and pressed his mouth to hers. Their tongues danced as his head slipped inside her vaginal lips and she gripped his arms in anticipation. In one quick movement, he pulled back, kneeling again between her legs. He stretched one of her legs up over his shoulder and kissed her ankle tenderly. She opened her mouth to speak but could only gasp as he leaned down again, her leg still on his shoulder. Pressing himself down against her again, he mouth-fucked her and thrust inside her. She was almost doing the splits in this position and he didn't hesitate to take advantage, stimulating her with his fingers, his mouth, and his dick.

Her leg burned from the strain of being kept in that position, but she couldn't feel it over the rushing pleasure of having Peter inside her again. He was moving in and out quickly, the sounds of their flesh meeting echoed in the room even as they moaned over their tangling tongues. She jerked her face away, struggling for air and it felt almost like he was pushing all the way through her, trying to come out on the other side.

Peter could feel her muscles so tight against him, her orgasm on the precipice and he was rushing to catch up. He shoved his face into her hair, grasping one of her hands as he thrust with wild abandon, any thoughts to a real rhythm lost long ago. Claire screamed as she exploded around him, her head tossed back and forth, her hand clenched his, and her pussy undulated and milked him for all it was worth.

He wasn't ready yet, though, and kept going like the energizer bunny on crack, unable to stop even to breathe. She was steadily climbing higher, her screams silent now as if she couldn't breathe either and together they might die in ecstasy and not mind at all. Claire licked the sweat from his neck and slid her hand down his rear. Reaching the apex of his legs, she moaned around a particularly hard thrust and pinched the back of his ball sac, sending him into spastic thrusts that ended with him cumming more violently that he ever remembered.

Their peak was so high that the fall took a long time, the aftershocks and shakes receding most begrudgingly.

Peter released Claire's leg, smiling his apology when she winced slightly. They curled together in the dark, suddenly cool in the open air. The top sheet was gone, Peter having torn it off when he'd returned home, but the coverlet still remained. He pulled it up over her shoulder, sliding his hands down to cup her breasts and kissed her tenderly. She sighed into his mouth, the picture of contentment.

* * *

_11 p.m._

She was on her hands and knees, her face pressed into a pillow as she fought not to give in.

"Say it!" Peter demanded, his voice rough and desperate as he fucked her from behind. Sweat glistened on their skin and Claire's hair was matted and tangled where it spread out over her back. Peter fisted a hand in it, using the other hand to hold her hips steady as he moved faster and harder, refusing to stop for one second until she gave in.

Claire bit her lips so hard they bled, and finally she pushed the pillow away and screamed, "Alright!"

Peter pulled her up by the hair, pressing his front to her back and didn't stop driving himself into her. He pressed his face into her cheek, biting the edge of her chin viciously. "Say it."

They were both about to orgasm but neither wants to be first, their competition having gone to the extremes. She pulled his hands to her breasts, biting her lip not to moan when he rolled her nipples in his fingers. He pinched one lightly and slid his other hand down her front, rubbing the small nubbin hidden in the apex of her thighs. He scissored it between two fingers, rubbing them up and down even as his thicker extremity stretched and impaled her.

"Only you," she whispered into the silence, the slick sounds of movement almost drowning them out.

He licked her shoulder. "Louder." Another demand, but not as hard this time. It was softer, her surrender sweet on his tongue.

She wrapped his hair around her fingers, jerking it toward her so that they faced each other over her shoulder. "Only you. Always you."

They kissed fiercely, and Peter thrust a finger inside her at the same time he started to jet his seed into her womb and in sync they screamed.

"Claire!"

"Peter!"

* * *

_1 a.m._

She slid her tongue down the head, and he almost hit the shower door in surprise. Steam covered much of her movement down there and he hadn't been expecting this.

Dropping the soap turned out to be fun for Peter and Claire.

* * *

_4 a.m._

The sun would be up soon and Peter imagined their night would be over. He didn't know what the light would bring, but he was assured that they could face it together. He was tired of pretending, secluding them from the world. He wanted to walk in the streets with Claire, hold her hand, wrap an arm around her waist, and proudly proclaim to the world that she was _his_.

Claire returned with a bottle of water from the fridge, comfortable with walking around naked and blushing when she realized that Peter watched her walk with a smile. She sipped quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed nearest Peter and relishing in the slide of his arm around her waist.

"You okay?" he asked with concern. She'd been quiet for the last hour or so.

"I'm great."

"What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

He levered up onto his elbow, rubbing his free hand down her cheek. "I can tell something is wrong."

She sighed and sat the water on the side table before sliding into bed beside him. Peter wrapped his arms around her and sat back, gently brushing curls from her forehead. "What's going to happen, Peter?"

"We're going to save the world." He was sure now. Somehow, with her at his side, they could do anything.

"No, I mean," she hesitated, "with us."

Peter nodded absently. "I don't want you to go back to Texas."

"I don't want to go back to Texas."

"I like having you here."

"I like being here."

"Claire..."

She sat up and turned to him. "Peter? I..." All night long she'd tried to change these feelings, to ignore them, and she couldn't anymore. She wanted him to know, and to know if he felt the same, because in the end she'd have to decide if it was worth it. Could she leave her family behind forever? Would someone eventually find her and tear her from Peter, and in truth, would he care?

"Claire," he cradled her face, "you've got to know."

"Know what?"

"I love you. Maybe from the first time I saw you." He grinned crookedly, rubbing one of his thumbs over her trembling lips. She bit his thumb lightly as a million-watt smile appeared and she leaned in to kiss him.

It was gentle but not without passion. The inferno had abated, leaving smoldering embers in its wake and they quickened within her. Sliding up his body, she straddled his lap, pressing against his quickly-hardening member.

Peter slid his hands down her sides, his callused fingers tickling her ribs a bit and making her jerk and smile. She pressed those smiling lips against his and wrapped her arms around his neck. She feasted on the taste of him and could only whisper endearments as he adjusted her in his lap and pressed into her slowly. Claire nipped at his lips and leaned back, twining her fingers with his in the bed sheets as she began to move.

Rising and falling, her eyes locked on his as she languished in the sensations he caused. Her skin flushed as her temperature shot up; Peter licked his lips and pressed them against her neck. Their combined hands fisted in the sheets; Peter and Claire moving together in perfect synchronicity. She rose and he fell, almost withdrawing from her completely; she pushed down as thrust up and they met in the middle with a deep sigh. Over and over their bodies toiled, slowly climbing in pleasure until every whisper of wind on razed skin elicited a moan.

Peter knew he couldn't last much longer, and he grit his teeth and held on. "Come on, Claire. For me, baby. For me."

Claire clenched around him, still moving and grinning like a Cheshire cat when his head fell forward and his feverish eyes were hidden by his hair. She pushed a strand back behind his ear, kissing his cheek gently and whispering with glee, "I love you, too, Peter."

He stiffened beneath her as her words stimulated his orgasm. Claire continued to move, pumping him dry and using the impetus to climax. The feel of his seed inside her, knowing that a part of him was in her, made every pulse point in her body jump, and several other things.

She slumped into his arms, smiling weakly as her head slid naturally onto his shoulder. "I think I might actually need to sleep now, Peter."

"Can you walk?"

"Yeah."

"Then we're gonna have to work at it some more."

Claire laughed and punched him half-mockingly. "How about we call it a night and start over tomorrow?"

Peter yawned into her hair, already half asleep. "It's a deal."

They could not know what tomorrow would bring.


	5. Boyfriend

The art of making pancakes had all to do with patience and timing. You have to be patient enough to wait until the right moment to flip the pancake, and you must also know when the right moment is. Flip too early, the inside isn't done and the pancake is doughy. Flip too late, and it's burnt.

Claire was not patient, and she didn't have a good sense of timing.

Breakfast was interesting, to say the least. The only saving grace of the morning was that Peter wasn't there to watch her fail miserably and the first truly disastrous results were shoved down the garbage disposal (the spell was still very apparent).

Placing a mound of alternating crispy and doughy pancakes on the Peter's kitchen table, Claire smiled as she heard the front door open. "Peter? You back already?"

"Yeah. I had to go grab some things before I went over to Isaac's," he called from the hallway, an odd rustling sound echoing back with his voice. Claire looked around quickly, making sure no signs of her battle with pancakes remained and was pleased to find that none did.

She pulled down Peter's shirt, it was all she wore, and ran a hasty hand through bed-tangled hair and tried to look like anything other than a little girl in daddy's shirt. Fortunately, when Peter stepped into the kitchen all he saw was a half-dressed beautiful woman.

Claire grinned and gestured to the spread on the table. "I figured you'd be back so I made some breakfast."

Peter slid his arms around her waist and viewed the food with some wariness. "That's supposed to be food?"

"It's considered edible in some countries."

"Not this one."

She sighed and leaned into his arms, pouting prettily. "I tried."

Peter grinned and nibbled at her ear. "I've got an idea. Let's go out for breakfast."

Claire gazed over her shoulder into his face, confusion marring her perfect face. "What do you mean? I'm not allowed outside. What if someone recognized me?"

Peter smiled and pulled her toward the hall, where he'd dropped a large paper bag. "I've got a solution." Grabbing the bag, he dragged her further down the hall, to the living room. "I think it's been long enough that it might be okay for you to go out, as long as you're disguised."

"What do you mean disguised?"

Peter released her long enough to reach into the mystery bag and to pull out a large hairy creation. Within seconds, he'd fussed with it enough to reveal it to be a well-made wig. It was dark brown and shoulder-length, and with a small "voila!" he placed it on her head.

She could only tilt her head and glare at him mockingly. You think a wig is going to fool anyone who's really looking for me?"

"No, but I've got some other things in here. Glasses, make-up, clothes."

"This is what you spent the last two hours doing?"

He nodded, excitement making him appear almost puppy-like. "You have to be ready to get out of here by now."

Claire pulled the wig off and sat softly on the couch. "What if it's not safe? What if...Sylar sees me?"

Peter knelt and wrapped his arms around her legs, kissing her hands where they clasped in her lap. "I'll protect you. Besides, we don't even know that he knows you're here. No one knows you're in New York. They won't expect to see you here, thus, they won't be looking for you." Claire smiled and pressed her forehead to his, nodding and rolling her eyes.

"Okay, but if the top of my head gets cut off, I'm blaming you."

Peter wasn't amused anymore, and he brushed a curl off of her smooth forehead before covering her cheek with his hand. "I'll never let that happen."

Claire kissed his palm, and stood abruptly. She grabbed the mystery bag and swiped the wig as she walked into the bedroom, tossing a careless grin over her shoulder. "Hey, stop dilly-dallying. You promised me breakfast."

"That I did," he replied, following her into the bedroom with a lusty look and thus ensuring that they would not be getting breakfast. It was more like a late lunch.

* * *

The air was mostly filled with exhaust, the sky was blocked out by the miles-high buildings, and there wasn't a tree as far as she could see, but Claire had never been happier to see such a sight. The sun was blazing ahead, the temperature high enough to immediately have Claire breaking out into a sweat. It wasn't the same heat of Texas, a dry heat that was easily combated with air conditioners. New York had a wet heat that felt almost like moving through cement. The cool air of various shops on the street rushed out with every new and exiting patron, but even those fleeting feelings of coolness didn't help.

Claire clasped Peter's hand and they walked down the busy sidewalk, smiling at each other every other odd moment as the people around them alternately smiled at them, ignored them, and avoided them. Peter had been right when he'd said no one would recognize her, because no one did.

They were almost to Isaac's when Claire caught sight of the corner vender. Instead of hot-dogs and the usual fast-lunch fare, the man was offering Sno-cones in a variety of flavors. Claire pulled Peter to a stop and pointed. "I want one."

"We're almost to Isaac's."

"I'm dying from this heat, Peter."

She grinned and nipped at his chin, taking the five he pulled from his pocket and ducking into the crowd. Peter watched her go and felt a strange stirring in his stomach. He'd like to blame it on the protectiveness he felt for Claire, but he recognized this feeling for what it was.

He was being watched.

Ducking his head and waiting impatiently for Claire to return, Peter surreptitiously looked around, trying to figure out who he felt. Most of the crowd wore suits and moved quickly; Peter couldn't get a good look at faces even if he wanted to. Turning around to try and get Claire's attention, a small poke in his side had Peter turned back. A man stood before him, tall, pale, with horn-rimmed glasses, and a serious expression. The poke Peter had felt was a small gun poking in his side, and naturally, no one in the crowd around them noticed.

"Don't try to make any trouble, Mr. Petrelli. I don't want to hurt you, but I think you can help me."

"What are you talking about?" Peter hissed, infuriated and worried as the seconds passed and Claire returning to a bad situation became more likely. Behind him a tall black man with a bald head and a blank gaze stepped up and grasped his arm.

"As long as you don't make trouble, your friend won't be hurt. Just come along quietly."

Peter let them drag him down the street towards an abandoned alley off the beaten path. He could hear Claire call out his name in the crowd, confusion and panic coloring her voice. He only prayed these two strangers didn't hear her and that she didn't see them.

His luck wasn't that good.

The man in glasses shoved Peter into the alley, aiming the gun expertly. "Two weeks ago, you were in Odessa, Texas. A girl was murdered and another went missing. All within the same day you arrived and left. What do you know about it?"

Peter held his hands in the air, his bangs falling in his face as he ducked his head and tried to think of what he could do to get out of this situation. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The man stepped closer, "Don't play with me, Mr. Petrelli. You won't like my rules."

"I don't know what you're talking about! I was there on business. It didn't pan out, so I left."

"What do you know about a man named Sylar?"

The name was unexpected and it reflected in Peter's gaze. The as-yet-silent man turned to the other and gave some sort of signal. With renewed determination, Horn-Rimmed Glasses-man pushed Peter farther into the alley and the shadows. "Did you help him escape? Are you his accomplice?"

Peter's eyes widened. "Escaped? What do you mean escaped? You had him in custody? Are you a cop or something?"

"Or something," he explained snidely, "And I'm asking the questions here. Where's Claire?"

Peter definitely knew that name but refused to let it show. All emotions cleared from his face as he went cold mentally. "You'll never get your hands on her."

Rage colored the older man's face and he slammed the butt of his gun across Peter's chin, sending him flying to the ground. "Tell me where she is!"

Behind him a small scream sounded as Claire, who'd seen and followed at a safe distance, saw Peter go down. She ran into the alley, pushing past both the Haitian and the other man and went to her knees at Peter's side. "What are you doing to him?!"

Peter grasped her hands, desperate that she get away. "No, Claire! Run!"

"Claire-bear?"

Claire froze in the act of examining Peter's quickly-healing facial contusion. Her head turned slowly and she watched with shock as her father stooped down at her side.

"Are you okay, Claire?" Mr. Bennet asked with relief as he crushed his daughter to him, forgetting the gun he still held in his hand. "I was so worried!"

"Dad?" She asked with a worried smile.

Peter sat on the moist alley ground and had enough sense to look worried. "_Dad_?"

Claire looked at him, then at her father, and grinned. "Um...Dad this is Peter, my boyfriend. Peter, this is my Dad."

Peter rubbed his jaw. "We've met."


	6. Girlfriend

* * *

Her boyfriend lay in a small alley-puddle, a bruise healing on his jaw. Her adoptive father was the one to put that bruise there with the gun in his hand. A creepy black man stood in the background and watched everything.

Claire wanted to help Peter off the ground, to try and explain things to her father in a way that would make sense. She wanted him to know that she didn't just up and leave Odessa on some teenage girl's whim. She'd done it to stop trouble from following her home, literally.

The indecision and insecurity her father's sudden appearance brought out in her, however, had her letting him take temporary control of the situation.

Claire let her father draw her away from Peter, who remained lying on the ground. He'd tried to get up, only to have the Haitian step on his shoulder and hold him down. No amount of trying could help him; something was interfering with his powers. Now, with cautious eyes, he watched as Claire's father, Mr. Bennet, talked to her quietly and walked her ever closer to the street.

"I've been looking for you for weeks, Claire," Mr. Bennet said in a slightly chiding tone. Claire didn't care for it, and glared at him to show it.

"I'm fine, Dad. I wanted to come with Peter."

"You don't even know Peter, Claire. You're in a lot of trouble; you've had your mother worried sick."

Claire flushed guiltily. "I'd have called but Peter said it wasn't a good idea."

"You trust everything that boy tells you?"

"Yes."

Mr. Bennet looked taken back, and shook his head as if to clear it. "This isn't the time or the place, Claire. Sylar is-"

Claire jerked her arm from his grasp. "How do you know who Sylar is?"

"..."

"For that matter, since when do paper salesmen carry guns, Dad?"

"Claire-"

Claire stepped back, looking at the man before her with new eyes. "I always knew something wasn't quite right. That you were hiding something. Who are you?"

Mr. Bennet sighed, wrapping an iron fist around her arm, now out-and-out pulling her to the end of the alley, where a car screeched to a halt and the back door opened enticingly. "Like I said, now isn't the time. We'll discuss this when you're at home."

"I'm not going home, and you can't make me," Claire replied through grinding teeth, looking over her shoulder to find that Peter and the Haitian had begun to tussle lightly, though the Haitian was winning since Peter couldn't even get off the ground to give a good fight.

"Don't be childish, Claire."

"Claire!" Peter shouted, pushing the Haitian away and standing. He started toward Bennet, Claire, and the ominous car, only to get tackled from behind as the Haitian regained his footing.

"I'm not a child anymore," she hissed as she pulled at her father's grip and halted their progress to the waiting vehicle. "I'm seventeen, and legal in New York. You can't force me anywhere."

"Claire, you don't know the kind of people that have been brought into this. They're not going to let you-"

"Let me?" She screeched, pulling away from her father completely and stepping back a few steps. "No one controls me. I decide," she said firmly, turning back and starting for Peter. "I don't know who you really are, but I'm supposed to trust you?" She paused and looked back at him forlornly. "At least I know who Peter is."

Bennet sighed, running his hands through his hair as he followed her back down the alley, waving off the sinister Haitian who hovered over the couple. "And just who is he, Claire?"

She smiled down at Peter, grasping his arms and helping him to stand. Peter dusted himself off and clasped one of Claire's hands, drawing her to his side protectively. Turning to her father, Claire smiled even brighter. "He's my hero."

Peter leaned down, ignoring the dirt and mud on his back, and whispered, "Is this the part where we run?"

Claire nodded, but added, "I'd rather hoped we'd fly. You did promise me a flight."

Peter shrugged, and waved to the two men standing several feet away. He spared a glance for the car that had clearly been meant for Claire and the figure of a woman sitting in the driver's seat, but he didn't recognize her. He waited for Claire to wave goodbye to her father before wrapping his arms around her waist tightly. Even as Mr. Bennet began to protest the closeness, they'd disappeared into the sky, leaving behind only a small cloud of dust.

Bennet sighed and turned to the Haitian. "Start tracking them again. There's only a few places they'd go." He didn't expect a response, and walked back to the car without waiting for one. Slamming the back door that Claire had never shut since she'd never gotten into the car, Bennet slid into the passenger seat and glared at his driver.

"I guess things didn't go well, huh?" Eden asked, running nervous fingers through her short hair. She'd never gotten used to this cut even if she did like the way it looked. She missed the weight of her hair.

While Bennet sighed and looked out the window, Eden fingered the small bandage covering her right temple. She had a black eye and several cuts and scrapes on her arms. Earlier that week, while Bennet had been distracted with finding Claire, she'd taken a risk and tried to do the right thing for the first time in her life.

Suffice it to say, it didn't end well, and now Sylar was free. If the Haitian hadn't returned at exactly the right time, Eden might even be dead now.

"You could say that. I'm going to need you to return to Dr. Suresh's apartment. Eventually, Peter will contact him again. I want you there to keep an eye and inform me when and where," Bennet explained, turning his head to stare at her. "Explain the injuries away with a mugging. I'll contact the Company and have them backup the cover."

Eden nodded and asked, "I guess you're not going to let Claire stay with Peter?"

Bennet looked out the window just in time to watch the silent Haitian disappear into the crowd on the opposite end of the alley. "It's not even an option."

* * *

If the views from Peter's windows were gorgeous, then the view from miles up into the atmosphere and floating above all of New York was positively orgasmic. The second their feet left the ground, Claire forgot all her worries and insecurities about the tableau she'd just endured and felt relieved to be free of it all for a few minutes.

It was cold up that high, and the wind buoyed them back and forth; the clouds they drifted through left dew on their skin and faces. Claire's hair fell from the rough bun she'd forced it into under the wig and tangled around her and Peter's faces. He smiled down at her and tucked her more securely into his shoulder, indicating they were going to descend now.

A sudden slackening in the force of Nathan's power in Peter had them plummeting toward the city. Peter made slight adjustments in their plunge, sending them toward the Deveaux Building. The large balcony on the top floor made for a perfect landing spot; it was not easily accessible, nor was it very visible.

Claire held onto Peter tightly and felt his lips moved against her cheek. He was saying something but the volume of the wind was so loud she couldn't hear. She glanced down past their feet and instinctively stiffened in Peter's arms as the buildings below came rushing up at them. If she'd had the time, she might've screamed...

They hit the concrete and stone floor of the balcony with tremendous force. Claire felt both of her legs break, indeed, shatter at several points. She collapsed at the same time Peter did and the speed with which they'd landed had them sliding across the balcony and into the wall. Several more bones were broken then.

Claire lay there stiffly for several minutes before she began to pop her bones back into alignment. She'd learned the hard way that if you didn't, they wouldn't heal properly. She'd had to re-break her right arm twice during her "trials of morality" back in Odessa after one of her first tries. Zach had of course not been much help; he'd been too busy vomiting in the bushes.

She turned to Peter, who was watching her with a morbid curiosity. She smiled at him and took delight in straightening his broken arm so it'd heal correctly. He swore and cursed her as she moved onto his legs; she explained, "If the bones are in the approximate right position, your body will just heal them the way they are."

"You learned how to set your own bones?" Peter was a nurse, so he did know how to do it. He'd just never considered having to do it to himself.

"Yeah, the hard way," she kissed his nose softly and rose to study where they'd landed. "Your landing is a little rough, lover boy."

Peter grinned and struggled to get to his own feet. There were sharp pangs of pain where his limbs were still healing, and his stomach felt like a rock, but he was alive. "I didn't expect it to be this rough. Couldn't slow down though, risk being seen."

Claire nodded and turned back to him, sliding her arms around his waist. "Where are we?"

"This is Charles Deveaux's apartment. I worked for him for a while."

"What happened?"

"He died," Peter said simply, sliding from Claire's arms to try the glass door that led inside. As expected it wasn't locked and Peter gestured for Claire to follow him. "I left some spare clothes here though, so we can get changed and head over to Isaac's."

"Is it still a good idea to go to Isaac's?"

"What do you mean?"

Claire sighed and sat down on a nearby settee with a small huff. "My father isn't who I thought he was, Peter. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'd never have thought him capable of violence."

Peter knelt next to her, squeezing her hands with his own. "Parents are never what they seem. There's probably a good reason why he acted the way he did today."

She smiled softly and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing him into a tight hug. "I don't think he's a paper salesman."

"And I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," Peter replied sarcastically, pulling Claire to her feet and towards the shower. "Let's get cleaned up so we can get out of here."

Claire hesitated on the threshold, watching as Peter removed his shirt and started on his pants. He reached in and turned on the shower, finally noticing that she hadn't begun to remove her own soiled and torn clothing. "What's wrong?"

"This is Simone's place."

Peter frowned. "What-...How do you know that?"

She glared at him. "You told me about her, remember? Simone Deveaux, beautiful woman who owns an art gallery and has an interest in both you and Isaac?"

He stepped away from the shower and towards Claire, stopping when she put her hand out in a gesture for him not to come closer. He crossed his arms and went for as stern a look as he could. "Claire..."

"Don't say it!" She warned him pointing her finger at him in anger. "I am not taking a shower with you in your ex-girlfriend's house."

"Claire-"

"Nope."

"Claire."

"Not happening."

Peter removed his pants and let his boxers slide down with them. "Claire?"

"That's just sneaky," Claire hissed, turning away and refusing to give in the luscious Italian Stallion standing naked before her. He grinned despite the urgency of having to get clean and get out. Stepping closer now that she wasn't warding him off, he slid his hands down her arms. They were bare in the sleeveless tank she wore and cold from air-conditioned apartment. She sighed and leaned into his arms, ignoring the fact that Little Peter was pressing into her back. "I'm emotionally fragile right now and you want to take a shower together?"

"Nothing has to happen. We just need to be a bit more inconspicuous. Being covered in our own blood and a lot of dirt isn't commonplace. We'd get noticed and we'd get reported."

Claire let him pull her shirt off and pressed into his hands as he cupped her breasts. "Why do you still have clothes here?"

"I never picked them up after I left. I was too busy trying to make sense of some stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Saving the world stuff."

"Ah," Claire nodded and sighed; Peter slid her skirt down her legs. "Am I supposed to be inconspicuous in men's clothing?"

Peter paused for a moment before pulling her into the shower with him. His silence made Claire question his intentions.

"Peter?"

"..."

"Peter."

"..."

"I am not walking out of here in Simone's clothing."

"It would be better if you-"

"No."

Peter sighed, reaching for the shampoo on the shelf and pouring some into his hands. He rubbed Claire's hair, lathering it up good, before washing his own hair. "Okay. I guess a set of my spare clothes would be fine."

Claire glared at him and rinsed the shampoo. "How many spare sets of clothing did you keep here?"

"Two."

"Why? Did you take your clothes off here on a regular basis?"

Peter laughed and dug his fingers into Claire's sides, causing her to laugh and twitch in his arms. Pressing her against the cool tile wall he pressed a hard kiss against her neck. "Why are you asking so many questions?"

"Well, since apparently I don't even know my own father, I think asking a few questions is in order."

However, those questions fell by the wayside as Peter found a few delicious ways to distract her. Claire was just rushing toward her first peak, Peter's fingers stroking her close to a pinnacle when they both became aware of footsteps coming nearer.

They froze in their clinch as the bathroom door opened and a familiar voice, at least to Peter, asked into the steamy room, "Who's there?"

Peter cleared his throat and with his odd quirky smile replied, "It's Peter."

She was unable to resist.

"And Claire," she added with an evil glint to her eye. Peter's own eyes widened in comical shock and he ground his teeth as the utter silence that followed the comment became tense and uncomfortable.

"Peter? I think it best if you," Simone paused, and even without seeing her, Peter knew she had closed her eyes and was counting to ten in her mind, "finish your shower and join me in the living room."

The door clicked shut behind her and almost completely unwillingly both Peter and Claire burst into laughter. He was sure Simone could hear them but was unable to stop.

Fisting his hand in Claire's hair, Peter pulled her head back so that he could look into her eyes. "That's a fun way to introduce my girlfriend. We should do this again."

Peter thought of Isaac or Mohinder walking in on the couple in the shower and decided very quickly that that wasn't a sight he would appreciate.

Claire's beautiful body was meant for his eyes and his eyes alone.

Claire smiled up at him and pressed a kiss against his broken smile.  
"Well...since we've already begun our fun we might as well finish."

"Simone is just down the hall."

"I don't care."

Peter decided he didn't care that much either.


	7. Amoureux

**Chapter Seven: Amoureux**

* * *

Peter sat next to Claire on Simone's sofa and struggled not to blush. Unlike the rest of his family, his emotions could always be read on his face; he was a horrible liar. It'd often gotten him into trouble during his childhood, and had even plagued him as an adult. One such instance of plaguing was Simone.

He'd broken up with her over the phone, and she hadn't taken the news very well.

As she glared down her perfect nose at him and Claire, Peter honestly couldn't remember why he'd ever thought he'd loved her. Maybe her regal bearing and sly eyes had attracted him at one point, but it didn't any more. Now he was more attracted to tan skin and pouting lips, to short but slim limbs and long curling blonde hair.

"Peter, why are you in my father's apartment...naked?" Simone's voice was soft but clearly angry.

"He's not really naked," Claire noted with an evil grin. "He's wearing boxers."

Simone turned those cat-eyes on Claire and practically hissed at her when she replied. "Semantics. The point is, you're both trespassing and I'd like to know why."

"Simone-"

"We no more want to be here," Claire smiled and her soft Southern voice became sharp as her eyes narrowed at her opponent, "than you want us here. In fact, if you don't mind," her words were sweet as sugar but the tone was pure venom, "we'll leave now."

Simone glared down her nose at Claire, who sat on the thousand-dollar French sofa wearing only a button-down shirt and a pair of Peter's boxers. Despite the situation, she sat there with all the grace of the Queen and her face held none of the embarrassment of Peter's.

Claire glared back at her and didn't let on how her stomach was churning and her mind was spinning. True, the woman across from her was beautiful and above reproach, her clothes worth hundreds of dollars and her attitude reflected it all. She had diamonds in her ears, platinum on her fingers, and Gucci on her body; she didn't have Peter at her side, however. Claire had swept Peter away from this creature across from her, which only showed who the better woman was.

Peter wrapped an arm around Claire's waist and brought her close enough to whisper in her ear. "Go grab our things from the bathroom. I guess we'll be leaving in a minute."

Claire started to shake her head, to refuse to leave Peter alone with the she-wolf across from them, but the serious look on his face brooked no argument. With one last hair-toss and glare, she left the former couple alone and returned to the bathroom to grab their dirty clothing.

"I'm sorry for just dropping in on you like this. We couldn't go anywhere else looking like we did."

Simone sighed and let go of the tension that caused her to snarl and snipe, apparently caused by the presence of Peter's new girlfriend. "What happened?"

"Honestly?" Peter asked with his signature crooked grin. "Claire's dad tried to kick my ass and we had to get out of there really fast. Had a bit of a tumble."

Simone pressed her tongue to her cheek and fought not to grin. "Maybe if you weren't subverting the children, you wouldn't get chased with a shotgun, Peter."

"Hardee-har-har. She's not a child."

Simone stood and brushed invisible wrinkles from her skirt. "She's got spunk, I'll give you that." She went and grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge hidden under one of the tables. Sipping slowly, she turned and stared at her friend. "So, that's the cheerleader, huh?"

Peter nodded. "The one I had to save." He grinned sheepishly and explained, "I saved her."

Simone raised one eyebrow mockingly. "Seems like you did more than just save her."

Peter had no response for that little snipe. He could only grin and shrug.

Simone shrugged and sat back down across from him. "I assume you're heading over to Isaac's when you leave here?" She waited for Peter to nod, before continuing. "I'll join you. We can take my car. That'll forestall any more..." she gestured to his state of undress, "awkward questions."

* * *

Isaac's loft was perpetually dimly lit, but Claire didn't mind. The shadows gave the room an atmosphere that was both fragile and foreboding. It fit the idea of a prophetic painter perfectly. She could easily see Isaac's gaunt figure weaving back and forth before a large blank canvas, his eyes unfocused as he reached for his brush and began. She could imagine the various speeds and ways he would paint, fast and with sure strokes or slow with carefully precise contours. 

She hadn't imagined, however, just how attractive Isaac would be. For some reason, she'd always imagined Isaac to look like that old painter that used to be on T.V., the one with the afro and the oddly charismatic voice. In reality, Isaac was not that much older than her and had all the makings of a heartthrob.

These, of course, were observations she kept to herself.

Peter introduced everyone and Claire greeted them with a shy smile. Hiro and Ando were somewhat difficult to understand but friendly. Isaac spared her only a small smile before he approached Simone and spoke quietly with her. Peter glanced at them but showed no anger or pain over the reunited couple and took Claire's hand to lead her to the paintings displayed on easels near the window.

He pointed to one that showed a blonde in a cheerleading uniform running up a set of stairs, painted in a foreboding way that kept the painting from being bland. The sense of threat was clear and present in it and Claire studied the figure closely before gasping. "That's supposed to be me?"

Peter nodded, and pulled her over to the next painting. It was a close-up of the Cheerleader's face, shock and fear making her eyes comically wide. Without speaking, they continued on down the row of paintings, looking at each and not speaking. The last one wasn't of the Cheerleader, but rather was of a sword-wielding man facing a dinosaur. Hiro popped his head between Claire and Peter's and said excitedly, "That's me! I get sword and I fight dragon!"

"Uh," Claire said uncertainly, "I think that's a T. Rex."

Ando shrugged and pulled Hiro out of Claire and Peter's 'personal space'. "Dinosaur, dragon? Same difference."

Claire giggled and turned to the small Japanese men. "Not really."

Peter wished he could let the light-hearted first meeting continue, but it was time to get down to business. "Isaac! I need to talk to everyone about something."

They all met somewhere in the middle of the studio, standing in a semi-circle around the painting of an "exploding man". Peter stared down at the painting, recognizing himself in the obscure picture. Claire slid her arm around his waist and waited for him to speak.

"Day before last I ran into someone else like us. He had certain abilities."

Hiro's expression which had wavered somewhere around "expectant" shot up into "joyous" within seconds. "What can he do?"

"He can turn himself invisible. Um, I followed him back to his place, which turned out to be the roof of the Deveaux Building. I was hoping I'd run into him when Claire and I arrived but he wasn't there."

Isaac sat on a small stool and thought of the small painting he'd finished several days ago. In it, Peter was leaning against a car but the lower half of his body was fading into nothingness. Peter running into the "Invisible Man" put things into perspective.

"We had a tussle and he threw me off a building."

"Peter!" Claire gasped, for he had not told her that part of the story.

He ignored her and continued. "When I hit the ground, I had a vision. It was kind of how I felt when I was using Isaac's abilities but different. Instead of just seeing snapshots of the future, I was..." His voice trailed off.

Claire gripped his hand tightly. "You were what?"

He shook himself mentally and looked down into Claire's eyes. "I was living it. I was in the middle of New York; it had to be about noon but there was no one around. My hands were glowing and suddenly you all appeared and were running towards me. Then, as quickly as you'd appeared, you all began to run away. All except my brother, Nathan. My hands were glowing brighter than before, and it was spreading through my body."

"What happened?" Hiro asked in his hesitant English.

"I exploded."

They all stared at Peter in awe, shifting their gaze to the painting next to him at the same time.

Peter swallowed his nerves and gazed at them all, his friends and his lover. "I'm the bomb."

Hiro's brow was knotted up as his mind boggled at the task before them. "How do we stop an exploding man?"

Ando posed a better question. "What does this all have to do with Sylar?"


	8. Amante

**Chapter Eight: Amante**

* * *

Peter and Claire left Isaac's apartment later that night with a feeling of dread weighing down their limbs. They moved sluggishly through the motions of getting a cab, not noticing the odd looks the cab driver gave their odd state of undress. Claire still wore one of Peter's t-shirts and his boxers; Peter was in jogging pants and a wife-beater. Though they didn't speak or even look at each other on the ride home, their hands remained entwined on the seat between them.

In fact, their hands remained joined all the way up until they walked into the apartment and were alone for the first time in hours.

They were alone for the first time since Peter revealed that _he_ would be the bomb to destroy New York.

Claire slipped her fingers from his and walked slowly into the living room. She hugged her arms as if cold and stared blindly into the shadows. She didn't move to turn on a light and Peter was too caught up in trying to decipher her expression to do it himself.

When she spoke, even as he stared at her so intently that he could count the number of eyelashes she had, it surprised him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged and moved to sit on the couch. "I only had it the day before yesterday. The timing just didn't seem right.

Claire moved behind him, the sound of clothing rubbing on clothing alerting him to the fact that she was coming closer. When she slid her arms around his neck he couldn't stop the way he caressed the silky skin of her arms any more than he could stop yearning for her, body and soul. "I can understand that." She walked around the end of the couch, smoothly sliding herself onto his lap without breaking physical contact. "It hurts that you didn't though."

He sighed into her hair and let the smell of vanilla calm his frantic pulse. "I'm sorry."

Claire nodded and pressed her face into his neck, trying to stifle the tears that she felt rising. "I don't want to lose you, Peter. Not after I just found you."

Peter pressed a kiss to one of her temples and hugged her tighter to his chest. "I don't want to leave you, either."

Claire pulled back, running his fingers through his chin-length dark hair and gazed into his eyes solemnly. "No, Peter. You don't understand. I looked at you today and listened to you talk so calmly about leaving me and-" She stopped suddenly and looked away, trying to compose herself before the tears she fought broke the barriers and wouldn't ever stop. Finally, she looked back into his dark almond-shaped eyes and said what she'd been feeling for weeks. "I love you. It's not some temporary thing, Peter. I love you and I don't think it's gonna stop anytime soon. I love you and the thought of you dying makes something in me hurt so bad that I can't breathe."

She was crying now, big drops that rolled down her cheeks to land on his fingers where he cupped her face. He whispered into her ear but didn't know what he said. All he knew was that her tears affected him in a way a woman's tears never had. He wanted to kiss the path they left on her feverish skin. He wanted to make sure she never had to cry again unless it was in happiness.

Most of all, he wanted to be sure that no matter what happened, she'd remember him and their love, because he was sure that he would.

Peter pressed kisses to her cheeks; the salt of her tears was a whisper of taste on his lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, their lips meeting and fusing. The inferno of passion that usually engulfed them at this point was slow to come but not to burn. The heat of it licked the insides of their bodies, drawing them tighter into its arms even as they pressed closer to each other. Peter slid his arms under her shoulders and her knees and lifted her as he stood. Slowly, careful to avoid obstacles, he walked into the bedroom and gently laid her on their bed, following her down because even the thought of leaving her for a second made him clench in pain.

They lay still for several minutes, just looking at each other, almost afraid to move lest the fragile mood between them be broken. Claire was no longer crying, though her large blue eyes remained red-rimmed. Peter was no longer whispering sweet nothings, mostly because what he wanted to say wasn't a sweet nothing.

He kissed her again, slowly so that the sensations of her skin next to his and her tongue dueling with his was drawn out and savored. He ran his hand down the bevy of curls sprawled across his pillow and wrapped one around his finger before caressing the side of Claire's body until his hand was on her thigh. He pulled at it until she'd wrapped it around his hip and the suddenly snug quarters of their legs had him smiling in pleasure and her moaning.

Claire had her arms around his neck and arched into his hands as he slowly began to pull up her t-shirt, the feel of warm skin underneath almost enough for him to abandon patience and to take her quickly. Only the smallest thread of control stopped him.

They moved together in sync, their touches slow but steady, their breath mingling and their heartbeats almost moving in sync. Their clothes disappeared piece by piece until it was all naked flesh moving in the suddenly sultry air.

When Peter finally slid into her, it was all Claire could do not to scream. Somehow, despite the intense pleasure making her legs weak and her hands shake, screaming seemed out of place tonight. Tonight was for making love, for moaning into his ear, for love.

Claire wrapped her legs around his waist, fisting her hands in his hair so that she could look him in the face. She whispered, "I love you," and felt him begin to move slickly in and out. He moved leisurely, taking his time to create sweet friction in their bodies. Within minutes, Claire could feel an orgasm tightening her loins and making her legs dig into his back but she held on. Peter could feel the tension and struggled to keep the same pace; no rushing tonight.

Claire bit into his chest, a show of viciousness amongst the tenderness between them that acted as a catalyst between them. Peter found her hands and drew them up beside her head, holding them there and leaning down so that their bodies were in full contact. He kissed her passionately, and drew away only long enough to whisper into her full lips, "I love you, too."

Claire came around him, her heels pressing him tighter into her as she moaned around his lips and her nails dug into the back of his hands. Peter waited until she'd hit her highest peak before coming himself, shooting his seed deep into her and struggling to breathe. He pressed his face into the pillow beside her hair, and thrust several more times as the waves that undulated around him milked him dry.

Claire's legs fell uselessly to the bed and she smiled dreamily at the ceiling above her. Peter rallied himself long enough to turn himself over so that he wasn't crushing Claire with his weight. She lay on his chest, the pounding of his heart in her ear, and tried to let her happiness and the aftershocks of love stop the doom and gloom from leaking back into her mind.

It didn't work.

"Peter?"

"Hmmm?"

"What are we gonna do?"

Peter looked down at the top of her head, threading his hands through her hair. "The best we can. There's nothing else to do."

Claire nodded and felt her eyelids growing heavy. "We can't really know what's going to happen, you know."

He nodded, though he knew she couldn't see it. She was asleep within seconds and he didn't want to wake her by speaking. In the coming days, sleep would most likely be hard to come by.

Peter had no doubt that life in general would get a lot worse in the coming days.


	9. Soul Mates

**Soul Mates**

* * *

_Odessa, Texas_

_Sometime in the near future_

"Will you tell me a story?"

"Baby, you're supposed to be getting ready for bed."

"I am, but I need a story to go to bed."

"Aren't you getting a little old for a bedtime story?"

"Nooooo."

"Okay. What kind of story do you want?"

"...a fairy tale."

"Cinderella?"

"No."

"Snow White?"

"Nooooooope."

"Sleeping Beauty?"

"Nope."

"...I know which one you want to here."

"You do?"

"I do. Come on, climb into bed. Now, how does it start?"

"Once upon a time, Mommy!"

"Okay, okay...once upon a time..."

* * *

Their romance had been anything but typical. They'd packed years worth of emotion into tension-fraught weeks. Between thought sessions on the various threats they faced, they pretended that what was between them was normal, and did the things normal couples did. The real world kept intruding into that private time, however, and what little time they had dwindled as the Day of Reckoning came closer. 

They had their fights, and their make-ups, but they always knew they had each other. Maybe it was that dependency on each other to stay sane that made it so hard to say goodbye.

Claire watched him leave from their bedroom window and knew there was a chance she might not see him again. In a surprising move the day the "bomb" was supposed to destroy New York, Peter had called her father and instructed him to join them in their apartment, without telling Claire. She'd been very surprised to open the door and see the man they'd been avoiding for over a week on the other side.

Her father hadn't tried to force her to leave. Instead, he'd tried lecturing her, cajoling her, bribing her, and threatening her. She knew her father had many more devious ways he could have tried to bring her back to Odessa, but he hadn't used any of them. In light of that quirk of his character, Claire felt more forgiving of his true career path and the Company for whom he worked. The fact that he'd only used passive aggressive techniques with her made it easy for her to stay; somehow it'd convinced Peter it would be better if she went.

"Claire?"

Her eyes tracked Peter's lone form as he walked down the sidewalk, headed for God- knew-where. As he slipped out of sight, her fingers twitched and the blinds closed out the outside world. She inclined her head to her shoulder, glancing at her father from the corner of her eye. "Yes?"

"This is the right decision, Claire. Peter is a good man to think of you first, and himself second."

"He's an idiot," Claire muttered. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and resumed packing the few things she had there. "When does our flight leave?"

Noah Bennet hesitated. "Your flight leaves in two hours."

Claire froze. "My flight? What about you?"

"I'm staying, Claire."

The shirt she'd been folding, one of Peter's she realized, fell to the floor. "What? Why? Why do you get to stay and I can't?"

"I don't have a choice, Claire-bear. I have to find and destroy the tracking system the Company has. We'll never be safe otherwise."

"I'll never be safe, you mean."

Bennet nodded slowly, recognizing the subtle intonations in her voice as meaning she was very close to be very angry. "Yes. That's what I mean."

Claire's little hands fisted and she closed her eyes to count to ten. "I'm so tired of the men in my life trying to protect me." She glared at her father. "I'm capable of taking care of myself, but no one will give me the chance!"

Bennet wrapped his arms around Claire's forearms and pulled her into a hug. "I love you and though I don't like it, so does Peter. This is a bad situation, Claire. If anything goes wrong, then the destruction will be massive! I don't want you here. Peter and I need to know you're safe so we can do what needs to be done!"

Claire pulled away, brushing her sweaty hands down her sweater and looking at the wall as tears formed in her eyes. "Fine. I'll go, but I'm still not happy about it." A sudden thought occurred to Claire, and she looked back at her father. He looked older than she remembered, stress weighing on his shoulders and bowing them down. He'd turned from her, intent on heading for the kitchen and a cup of coffee to get his old bones to stop creaking. "Dad?"

"Yes?"

Claire smiled; her watery blue eyes seemed unnaturally large in her face. "I love you. And I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Claire, just be safe," he replied as he started back for the kitchen. Claire waited until he was out of sight to throw herself out the window. She knew she'd never make it out the door, her father in the kitchen and the silent Haitian at the front door. As she flew through the air she could only hope that the Haitian wasn't using his own special abilities and that when she hit the ground that she'd heal.

* * *

"Did it hurt?" 

"Did what hurt?"

"Hitting the ground?"

"Yeah, baby, it always hurts. Only for a little while, though. Most of the pain goes away."

* * *

By the time she caught up with Peter most of the battle was done. She ran as fast as she could, but it'd taken longer than normal for her body to knit itself together. She'd had to get up and move instantly and she'd had to re-set one of her legs an hour after she'd escaped. 

She could hear someone crying in the shadows of the building and as she ran she spared them a glance. It seemed to be a family of sorts, a boy and a girl, a man (wounded) and a woman (angry). The man was bleeding, but in the dark Claire couldn't tell from where. He wasn't her concern, however, so she kept moving.

Closer to the sounds of fighting, the thud of fist on flesh, the small spurt of blood spurting from sudden cuts, Claire found the first body. He was against a large column, shot several times in the chest. She couldn't tell if he was bleeding and she didn't stop to check. She wondered to herself why bullets killed him. They were all supposed to be "special" right? Why such a conventional weapon?

She stumbled past the pillar and caught her first sight of what was occurring in Kirby Plaza. Her gaze went first to Hiro where he stood, his eyes wide as he stood before a stranger. The unknown man was tall with dark hair and his eyes spiraled wildly in his face as he struggled to comprehend what was going on around him.

Claire knew he had to be Sylar.

She knew he was Sylar because Hiro had stabbed him in the chest, as the paintings and the future Hiro had ordained. When the man grinned madly and slid to the ground, she felt an untold relief that she was at least safe from him. He would not be killing her for her abilities, but she did feel a smidgeon of pity for him. He was the reason Peter and she had met and fell in love. In some ways, she might even have been indebted to him for it.

Then again, he'd tried to kill them both so whatever depth they might have had was basically void.

As he hit the ground, Hiro's sword was pulled from his body. The small Japanese man stared at the bloody blade from several seconds before teleporting away with an unreadable look on his face. Claire could remember his objections to the task before him, his naïveté making him voice them clearly. _Heroes don't kill_.

Claire had to disagree. A true Hero knows that sometimes there is no other way. A true Hero knows that sometimes there has to be.

With Sylar on the ground and Hiro gone, Claire finally caught sight of Peter and it made her breath stick in her throat. His face was contorted with fear and horror as he started to lose control. Ted Sprague, God rest his soul, had come to New York to try to stop the Company. Sylar got to him before they'd accomplished that, but not before Peter had come into contact with the radioactive man.

He'd almost lost control then, but there was no last minute discipline riding in from Peter's subconscious to save the day this time. Claire wrung her hands and bit her lip as she suddenly wondered if she should go to him. She could heal physical injuries, but what about other kinds? Would radiation kill her? Did she care?

She briefly laid a hand on her lower abdomen and knew that she did care. Her eyes flickered around the Plaza until they found the fallen figure of her father. He'd come, in the end, to help Peter save the world. Whether because it was the right thing or because he knew that Claire would turn up here, or even because he realized that Claire loved Peter and that she needed him to live, he would never tell her.

What mattered was that he had come, and that he had what she needed.

She ran to his fallen body, he was barely conscious. She wanted to scream his name and to feel his arms around her. He'd always made her feel safe as a child. Despite being adopted, he was the only father she'd ever known. She hugged him desperately, willing him awake to tell her what to do. She couldn't remember what she was supposed to do.

Her fingers brushed the cold metal of the gun at his side. He'd dropped it when he'd hit the wall (she could see the dent he'd created). He grabbed her hand, drawing her eyes to his. "You have to stop him, Claire. He can't-" Bennet sucked in a hard breath as pain lanced up his side. "He can't kill all these people."

Claire gripped the harsh mesh handle and stood. Her back was ramrod straight as she turned to stare at Peter, who watched her with unreadable eyes. The glow from his hands was slowly spreading to the rest of his body.

She pointed it, her hand shaking under the weight of the weapon. Peter stiffened, readying himself for the blast. Her mouth puckered and her eyes watered from the light he was putting off, or maybe they teared from the weight of what she was supposed to do.

She looked away from him, glancing at Sylar's body, the bullet-ridden body, and the small family cloistered in the shadows. When she looked back at Peter, she had resolve warring with love on her face. She closed her eyes as her finger twitched on the trigger. "I love you, Peter." It was a whisper she thought he wouldn't hear.

He did.

"I love you, too," he mouthed back. He closed his eyes, prepared to end his own life to prevent the deaths of millions.

Claire went cold inside as she stared down the barrel of the gun. She had to incline her head and the gun a little to make up for the height difference and to ensure she hit the "sweet spot". She could hear a roaring in her ears as she panted and became light-headed, her sight going spotty. She could feel panic and hysteria edging in on her thoughts.

She realized too late that the roaring wasn't her imagination.

Congressman Nathan Petrelli landed with a small grunt in front of her and almost got shot for his trespass. Claire jumped back, her startled face staring up at his. "What-"

She'd only met him once, a few days ago when Peter had convinced her they needed his help. The risk of exposure had been all for naught, because Nathan had refused to give aid. It was there that they'd learned that the Company, responsible for countless kidnappings and tagging of "special" people, was also going to somehow be responsible for Peter "going off".

The very fact that they'd known about what was to happen but never sought to stop or inform anyone who could stop it placed much of the blame at the Company's feet, in Claire's opinion.

Nevertheless, Nathan had become a pawn of the Company and unwilling to help. Claire had figured he wouldn't, his gaze was hard where Peter's was kind. She had no doubt that the state of their hearts was of similar disposition.

He and Peter had argued and Claire had left him with some food for thought as she started to follow his brother as he stormed out. Her hand on his office door, she'd turned to him and tried to make him see that the _Future is not written in stone_. Just because people said something had to happen, didn't mean it would.

Now, here with his brother's life in the balance and Claire's future as well, he threw the words back in her face.

"The future isn't written in stone, Claire," he said with a small smile before walking to Peter's side.

The gun slipped from her hand as she watched the man she loved grip his brother's arms before both of them rose into the air with great speed. The pain of what was happening suddenly rushed into her chest and she fell to her knees as sobs began to tear from her throat.

When the explosion lit up the night's sky, Claire's vision began to darken immediately. She couldn't breathe, her muscles bunched up, and she suddenly couldn't see the future past the here and now.

Peter was gone.

Claire tried to breathe, knew she had to, and found that the will to do so was gone. She sat there on that hard concrete walk and felt her heart beating in her chest. It was racing, thumping against her breasts in a beat mirrored in her head.

She could hear voices as the people in the Plaza started to move, to celebrate that they'd all somehow saved the city, but Claire didn't care. The city was safe, but she never would be again, would she?

Peter was gone.

Her father dragged himself to her side, wrapping one arm around her shoulder as he tried to comfort her. Her emotions were revealed in all their painful glory as tears spilled down her blood-less cheeks. Her mouth was open and moving but nothing came out, her thoughts unspoken as she struggled to comprehend what was happening.

One fist was clenched above her heart, the other above her stomach and she started to rock back and forth. She made a small sound and startled Bennet who gripped Claire's arms and tried to wake her from this trance. "Claire?"

She wasn't saying anything. Her mouth was open and moving, and a sound was coming out, but it made no sense. It wasn't a child's sound, one that demanded comfort from a parent. It was a woman's sound, a scream of grief that nothing could comfort and Bennet was uncomfortably reminded again that his little girl was gone.

She screamed and pressed her face into her hands trying to make the world go away. She didn't want to be here, didn't want to face the truth of what had been done.

Peter was gone.

The others were startled, none more so than Dr. Mohinder Suresh, as Claire screamed and Bennet started to call for someone. Out of the building beside the Plaza a figure emerged. It was a woman with short brown hair, one some of the observers knew, and some didn't.

She ran to Bennet's side, taking in the girl in his arms. They spoke quietly and finally Eden addressed Claire.

"Claire?"

She could hear the voice calling but she felt no urge to respond.

"Claire."

She stopped screaming as breath rushed into her lungs finally, her head going light and spinning as she gulped in air. Her head fell back and she looked into the sky. She realized that the clouds had been affected by the explosion. They were no longer lumpy and whipped up; they'd stretched out and flattened from the backlash.

"Claire!"

The force of the yell was the only thing that made Claire pull her eyes from the sky. She didn't speak because she couldn't. She didn't recognize the face before her, but found that was a good thing. This woman couldn't remind her of everything she'd lost.

"Claire, hello. I'm Eden."

Did this woman really expect Claire to respond?

"Go to sleep now."

She did.

* * *

A little girl with large doe-like blue eyes stared up at her mother. "What about the Prince?" 

Claire smiled and brushed soft brown hair off her daughter's forehead. "He went on a journey."

The little girl leaned close and whispered softly. "Did he die?"

Claire laughed and smoothed the covers over the little girl. "No. I don't think he did."

Isabelle Petrelli looked at her mother suspiciously. "What about the Princess?"

"She went home with the King."

"Did she wait for the Prince?"

Claire brushed a kiss over Isabella's temple and stood with a small bitter smile. "She still is, baby."

"Good night, Mommy."

Claire flicked off the overhead light, watching as her daughter turned on her side and gripped a small teddy bear. "Good night."

Her father had liked to sleep on his side too.

* * *

Fin

* * *

So, read and review, please. 


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